Sitting across from me on a Frecciarossa train going from Naples to Florence, Karen has just read me a fun fact about Stendhal Syndrome, which is apparently a non-official psychiatric condition in which over-exposure to beauty in the form of museums, cathedrals, palaces, etc., can cause one to experience heart-palpitations, dizziness, confusion and even faint.
Well, I don't know about that. I have yet to see a church so beautiful it can strike me down on the spot.
But we did see some incredible beauty in these days on the Amalfi Coast.
We started off in Naples, where I've never actually been. I've been...but only through there, catching a train to someplace else. I'd never really visited, staying in a hotel, seeing the sights...that sort of thing. That was on purpose, actually. I'd been told many times by many people what a big, dirty, crime-ridden city Naples was. My mother-in-law had her purse stolen there. A few years back, mafia in-fighting caused garbage not to be picked up for months, and you can imagine the smell that created. It just didn't sound like a place that should be high on my list, and so it wasn't.
Fast-forward to today, and my dear friend Karen who announced her intention to visit Naples. And so I thought...what the heck. Perhaps the time has come for me to visit as well! And so I flew down to Naples from Torino with a beach bag as a carryon, planning to haul us off to the Amalfi Coast from Naples as soon as I could.
(Here's where I very predictably tell you that when I stepped off the plane in Naples, I was overcome by its charm and beauty and had wasted years by not visiting).
Not so, my friends.
When I stepped off the plane in Naples, I was unpleasantly NOT surprised by the heat, the confusion, and by the immediate assault by truffatori or "cheats." Every man, woman and child wanted to sell you something, take you in their private unofficial taxi or lead you off on some strange "tour." But alas for them! I am no tourist, and so doggedly plowed forward, not looking left or right, but heading directly for the "official" taxi line to be taken to my hotel.
Alas for me, Napolitani are much more furbo (street smart) than me, and official means very little there. I was ushered into a minivan with a broken meter, a driver, who although extremely charming, kept up a rapid stream of conversation on his phone, ignoring my attempts to ask for a price, and upon dropping me at my hotel, insisted on cash-only payment of 35 euros for a 13 minute ride. I gave him $30. Then said to him in Italian--"I know you are cheating me. But you're doing it with such a lovely smile that I'll play along." He laughed, took my money, and sped off.
I then took the chance to look around me.
Hmmm....bags of garbage, check. People who want to steal from me, check. Graffiti, noise, confusion, filth, check, check, check. My first impression was--I've landed back in India, not Italy.
But I shrugged. I was on an adventure. On a super, much-needed vacation after an extremely stressful year of work--I was happy regardless! And about to see Karen! Plus--I loved India. I was ready.
* * * * * *
So I got settled into our room and changed, and Karen and I went in search of a Napolitano aperitivo. We made our way down to the lobby, and the first thing we encountered was a group of Americans, who introduced themselves and asked us where we were from.
We thought this might be a good Graydar opportunity (read: the phenomenon of running into other people from or connected with Grayling when in other parts of the country/world), and so introduced ourselves as being from Grayling, Michigan, and did they know it?
They did not know it, but did introduce themselves as being Marcy, Doug and Mike, who were there for a wedding from Seattle. We enjoyed chatting with them for a bit, and then set off on our Naples adventure in search of that Spritz.
One place I had always wanted to see in Naples was the "Spaccanapoli"--a long, tight thoroughfare running through the city, that is where the height of Neapolitan culture can be found. Think laundry hanging across balconies, opera music floating out of doors, the smell of pizza in the air. So we headed for that.
And we found just that:
Hanging laundry
An old woman watching the confusion from her balcony
Grappole di tomatoes hanging in store windows.
It was full of music, life, zooming vespas, in short--we were in love.
We followed the music to a Spritz bar with lots of outdoor tables and an animator who was spinning up the crowd. We asked for a table, and who called out to us but Marcy, Doug and Mike--who had also set off after we talked to them in the bar.
The waiter pulled more chairs over to their table.